Which I still care nothing about, but I couldn’t resist digging further to discover why Sean Avery was in so much trouble. Again.

For those of you who, like me, don’t care about hockey, Sean Avery plays for the Dallas Stars. He also was dating Canadian actress Elisha Cuthbert, who is now dating the Calgary Flames’ Dion Phaneuf. (Elisha apparently likes hockey more than I do.) Sean Avery, while in Calgary, and while being interviewed by the media, went on camera saying something to this affect:

“It’s good to be back in Calgary, but there seems to be a trend in players dating my Sloppy Seconds.”

He is now suspended by the NHL for six games. His own team says they support the decision, and would have suspended him themselves if the league hadn’t.

I clearly don’t have to illustrate how crude and infantile his comment was. I would hope most of you grasp that immediately. What sent me on a Saturday morning “I hate frat boys” downward spiral was the incredibly arrogant way he said this. So cocky, and deliberate. I’m not sure if I’m alone in this response, but I could immediately conjure one or two jilted exes of mine making similar comments about me. Believe me, I don’t have many who would ever fall into that category. But ladies, we all have one or two, don’t we?

The NHL deemed his behavior appalling and anti-social. If THAT is what they consider appalling or anti-social, they would LOVE some of the cases I could present. Wouldn’t it be great if we could drag one or two boys we know before such a commission? Or, even better, if members of “their own team” were so disgusted by them, that they insist on a formal hearing?

What would punishment look like? They are suspended to six months of no dating? They get a favourite toy taken away? They are forced to walk around town with a red “A” pinned to their chest? (Guess what the A would stand for?)

When I see a … as the subject header for an email, it can only be one person. And tonight I came home to “…” and “If it’s ok with you, I think we should have a talk at some point.”

Not having ANY CLUE what this talk may be about, I truly don’t know if it’s ok with me, but as always, curiosity has gotten the best of me. The holidays do funny things to people, and I’m prepared to let go of some anger. I have no idea what I’m in for though. It should at least make for good material.

Today I passed a billboard ad while I was on the streetcar. It was for Cosmo TV. If, like me, you think this magazine is insufferably offensive, then by the looks of their Television marketing campaign, the network will be even worse. The ad was hot pink, and featured a giant, perfectly manicured hand, which may have been holding a martini glass, with the pinkie finger extended, and a tiny little man clinging to it for dear life. Presumably “wrapped around it”. Gag. Suffragettes and bra burners everywhere must be collectively shaking their heads, and rolling in their graves. (Though in my imaginary world, suffragettes are burned so their ashes can be scattered in the wind. A deliberate choice to avenge their witchy sisters by taking back the sacred power of fire, and a defiant resistance to being trapped inside a man-made box for all eternity.)

Having a man wrapped around your finger isn’t feminism. Feminism is about EQUALITY. Coming together on an even playing field, and celebrating those unique differences that give us power of equal strength and potential. It’s an arm wrestle that ends with both wrastlers calling a draw, and enjoying a pint or two and talking about the current political climate, or world hunger.

I love that feminism has come full circle, where we have made huge inroads with issues like workplace equality and basic recognition as viable members of society, and we can now celebrate our sensuality and innate “femaleness”. I hate the current model of young woman that pop culture and the media has created. It makes my heart burn, and my ovaries want to shrivel.

I could rant endlessly about this topic. I blame a lot of it on the Madonna/Whore stigma. It’s so hard for the average person to accept a woman who is smart, and talented, and nurturing, and basically a “good girl”, but who is also deeply in touch with and comfortable with her sexuality. In men, we revere that trait. We worship icons like George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Vigo Mortensen (insert wise, powerful, sexy, paternal, strong male celebrity here) but who can we readily think of who exudes the same degree of sexuality and savvy, from the female persuasion in our modern age, who hasn’t at some point been called a whore? I immediately think of Catherine Zeta Jones, but I’ll bet she married an old man because nobody her own age could even comprehend that combination. To be honest, I don’t even know if she’s smart. I DO know Sharon Stone is MENSA smart, but still everyone thinks Basic Instinct. It was one role for god’s sake!

Paris Hilton is the ultimate representation of the type of woman pop culture has given birth to. She makes me shudder. She, Nicole Ritchie, The Olsen Twins, Britney, and that crazy, drunken lesbian who’s name escapes me right now. The one with the freckles… They should be transported to an island and left without cellular technology and credit cards. A secret camera crew could film them as they truly unravel. Eventually, I pray that they would eat each other in a orgiastic frenzy of canibalism not fit for prime time television. (This special footage could be pay-per view.)

Children starve to death every day, and these girls will choose to do it to become a perfect size “0”. Who the fuck invented size “o”? No such thing has ever existed until very recently. This is it gals. We live in a world that encourages us to aspire to “o”.

I say lube it up with a tub of Crisco and stick it where the sun don’t shine.

I don’t want big fake tits, I NEVER want to be orange, I will probably never have a hard, flat tummy, and I try to use the word “like” the way it was intended, when creating a simile or describing something I am fond of.

So, if it’s ok with you…we SHOULD have a talk at some point. I have no idea what you would like to say, but I think we both know that it’s not so easy to silence me.

How I long for the day that someone is not wrapped around my pinky, nor crushing my little hand under a steel-toed motorcycle boot, but is strong enough to hold it firmly in his own, knowing each of us can look the other square in the eye and not be so afraid.

But not before I hibernate a little.
NOvember didn’t work out so well, but it is with a renewed sense of discipline that I look forward to Nice and Not Naughty December [NNND]. I truly am looking forward to this, although I’m not entirely sure what it means. I know it means no sex. I think it might also mean no dating, although I can think of one feller who wouldn’t get a “no” if he asked me out on a date. Perhaps two, but it’s early still…

Here’s a test to see if any of my friends still read this…

I joined an internet personals site. It’s not the big one that guarantees a life partner (hahahaha), but one of those hip, sexy ones that is free, unless you want to access all of the features. What a strange process it is. Writing clever profile details, choosing the perfect photos, and then browsing through page after page of eligible singles. It’s so surreal.

Some of the profiles are obvious. People who probably have no luck working up the nerve to meet women in the flesh, guys with ridiculously jacked bodies who are just looking to get laid (like a feller from Hamilton named gspotorgasm. subtle) and those scary ones that look like they could be really amazing, but are most likely looking to get laid, or are married with kids and lying about everything.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so cynical going in?

Right now, between each paragraph I type, I’m scrolling through photos of dudes. You can create a list of the people you are interested in, but I can’t tell if it’s a private list, so I’m avoiding this because I don’t want people to feel like they are on some sort of bizarre catalogue “wish list”. I also don’t want to make the first contact. I’m always making the first move, and I’m so sick of it.

I had scarcely filled out any of my details, and a fellow sent me a note. That’s what started me filling out all of my profile. He’s cute, but he’s a drummer, and I’ve been cautioned against musicians many times. He sent a nice note though. Really nice. And on his profile page, he references the movie Amelie. I hadn’t even filled out those kinds of details about myself. He also likes farmland. And we were in Paris for the first time at almost the exact same time.

TWO DAYS LATER…

Still emailing the drummer. He gives good email. I’ve received a couple of other emails from people, but none are as interesting. I think we’re going to meet in person. I’m so incredibly busy though, it will be tricky for the next two weeks. I sent him my first promo shot. A big risk. The others have been “normal me”. I’m learning that some people have a really hard time realizing there is more to a burlesque performer than fun, sexy times. We have agreed that we need to meet in person before he ever sees a show.

I realized this evening that there is some kind of cap on this particular site. I’m now fearful that our correspondence will get cut off, and I’m not prepared to pay for membership. It occurs to me that because my world is so incredibly small that we probably know mutual people. I cringe as I type this, but I did a little bit of looking around on Facebook. Sure enough. Three mutual friends. Ironically enough, all three have shared a stage. Sigh. I didn’t add him as a friend. I figured that would be creepy.

I’m editing myself as I type. Interesting. I think because this is the first very specific email about someone else, besides Gaetan in Paris. Suffice to say that if I meet this guy, and we hit it off, I will not continue to divulge details in such a manner….

Other exciting news – I’ve had nearly five days in a row with nothing to do except rehearsals, and have enjoyed lots of at home alone time. I now realize this is essential to my mental well being. It’s so much better with Arthur to share it with. He’s the perfect four-legged, hairy companion on a dreary winter’s night. December is going to be hard without him.

Solo Christmas could be nice too. I was dreading it until my self-imposed solitude led to such a state of peace. I think all may be calm AND bright.

Sleeping now I think…

Bon Nuit

You’re a silent-film era sad clown.
You’re the tramp with eyes like liquid chocolate pools.
You are the standing-in-the-doorway while the entire frame of the house falls down around you in one great swoosh scene.
How could anyone lie to such a sweet face?

You are fingerless gloves gripping a dented tin cup.
You have the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen.

The first time I saw you we were strangers sharing a train on the way to the big top.
You had a bandanna tied around your neck like you were going to make us all reach for the stars.
First I noticed your funny little mustache, then I got locked in the fierceness of your gaze,
and I nearly handed you my pocket watch which was ticking so loudly!

I fell for you once.
I just might do it again.

But only if you can start to look me in the eye,
And only if you are ready to fill my cup whenever it’s getting low.

The Three Stages of Women – Gustav Klimt

Hi Schnoo,

I was just sitting here in my quiet space and decided to go on your Schnooville site. I am glad I did. I just love reading your inner most thoughts and feelings. I feel like I just want to hold you in my arms as I did when you were a baby and rock you and protect you. I feel very blessed to have such a great daughter with so much talent in so many fields. My wish for you is to find your soul mate and be able to share all the love that you have to give to others. I don’t mean to sound so melodramatic but after reading your blog I just had to send you an email. I think it was when I read your blog about Thanksgiving that made me realize that though you have been through a lot in your short life, to know that you have such a long list of things and people that you are thankful for makes me warm inside. Try not to look too hard for that mate as I know that he is out there somewhere just waiting for you and will appear when you least expect it.
Keep up the beautiful writing that I enjoy so much.

Love you lots,

Mom